Cutting the Cord Page 8

  “You told Aunt Mary that Arthur was dead. Was he one of your loved ones?” she asked. Bea smiled down at the little puffy-eyed girl.

  “He was. Arthur was my husband, Janie. I loved him very much.”

  “Was he murdered like Freddy was?”

  “No, sweetheart. Arthur was taken very poorly one day. He had a tumour on his brain that wouldn’t stop growing and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. He was in lots of pain before he died but he never complained; he was very brave. I wasn’t so brave. I cried lots and lots. I shouted and screamed a lot too. I was very angry at the world, at everyone and everything for a very long time. But then I realised that Arthur wouldn’t want me to be so sad. To be so angry and upset all the time. He’d want me to be happy. To live the life, we’d planned. So, I stopped crying and I did what he’d have wanted me to do. I started living again for the both of us.”

  “So, you were brave in the end?”

  “Oh, yes, sweetheart, I was. I still am. And together we can make you brave too.”

  “Freddy would want me to be brave, wouldn’t he?” enquired Janie.

  “Of course he would. You’ve got to live enough for you and Freddy now.”

  “I can do that?” perked up Janie.

  “Of course you can, sweetheart.” Bea brushed aside a curl from Janie’s cheek. “You just have to believe in yourself and Freddy.”

  “Oh, I do believe, I do. It’s just I don’t want things to keep changing. I don’t like it.”

  “You’ve gone through some bad changes that’s all, Janie. Not all changes are bad. Some are very good. I can see some good changes coming your way, I really can.”

  “Can you, really.”

  “Oh, yes, Janie. Now you get some sleep and we’ll talk about these new changes in the morning over the lovely breakfast I’m going to cook us all, okay?”

  “Okay, Aunt Bea. Night, night.” Janie snuggled back down under the covers.

  “Night, night, sweetheart, sleep tight.”

  “And I won’t let the bed bugs bite,” chorused Janie from beneath the sheets.

  Janie woke the next morning to the smell of bacon cooking. She quickly slipped on her dressing gown and slippers and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Sitting round the table was Anne and Charlie, while Bea was busy frying eggs on the stove. Janie plonked herself down beside Charlie.

  “I like my bacon crispy and my eggs runny,” she exclaimed.

  “I’ve already told Aunt Bea,” began Charlie. “I’ve even told her you don’t like the skin or cores on your tomatoes too.” Janie beamed at Charlie. He was only three years older than her but he was so much wiser, she thought. Bea placed the cooked breakfast down in front of Janie. It was perfect.

  “Thank you,” Janie said politely to Bea.

  “You’re very welcome,” she replied.

  “She’s not going to have time to eat that before school,” scoffed Anne.

  “Your father has informed the schools that none of you will be in today,” began Bea.

  “Why ever not?” cut in Anne. Bea shrugged off Anne’s butting in. Harry had already warned her that Anne would be a problem. So she continued her answer without any sign of annoyance in her voice.

  “He’s holding a family meeting later this morning to discuss with you all the future of this family and—”

  Again Anne butted in.

  “Have Aunt Mary and Gran been told to come?” Bea was beginning to get a little ruffled now.

  “They are not invited, Anne. It only concerns those living h—”

  “Aunt Mary and Gran have always been invited. I don’t see why today should be any different, just because you—”

  This time it was mild-mannered Charlie’s turn to cut in.

  “Anne, let Aunt Bea explain, will you?”

  “Well, I don’t—”

  “Your father, Anne,” Bea began, “has invited me to live here.” Anne was poised to butt in again but Bea quickly put her off with a raised finger to her lips. “I’ve agreed to be here during school term time, but I’ll be spending the school holidays at my cottage in Talybont, Wales. During term time, I will take over the day-to-day running of this house and you children. In the holidays, you will be given the choice of staying here or joining me by the sea.”

  “I thought you’d told Aunt Mary that you lived in New Quay with Arthur. Or was that just another one of your lies?” spat out Anne. Bea inhaled deeply. Harry was right. She was going to have her work cut out with Anne. She obviously had the same mindset as both her Aunt Mary and Gran.

  “When we were first married, we did live in New Quay. Together we ran the shop. But a couple of years later we bought a derelict cottage overlooking the sea in Talybont. There Arthur would paint and I’d sew.”

  “SEE, Anne, Aunt Bea wasn’t lying. So, did you sell the shop with the flat?” continued Charlie. Then both he and Janie poked their tongues out at Anne and started to giggle. Bea smiled at their antics.

  “No, we didn’t, Charlie. In fact, the same couple still live in the flat and run the shop who took over when we left.”

  “Did you give it to them?” asked Janie.

  “No,” giggled Bea now. “They rent it from us, well, me now. I offered them to buy me out after Arthur died but they just wanted to continue to rent, so that’s what we settled on.”

  “Aunt Bea?” Janie asked with her mouth full of bacon. “Do you not have any children?”

  Charlie nudged Janie.

  “That’s rude, Janie.” said Charlie. Bea gave them both a big smile.

  “No, sweetheart, I’ve never had a child. Oh, Arthur and I wanted one more than anything else in the world. For many years we wondered why it wasn’t happening to us, then, finally, I fell pregnant. For two glorious months we were the happiest people on earth. Then Arthur fell ill, very suddenly. The brain tumour took hold very quickly and within weeks he was gone. The shock of it all and the grief from losing my Arthur took its toll and I was rushed into hospital, where later I lost our baby.” The smiles fell from both Janie’s and Charlie’s faces at the sad news, but Anne waded in with a horrible remark.

  “Well, I’d say it was for the best. That baby could have been born with some dreadful disease from that brain tumour her dad had.”

  “ANNE BEATRICE ARNOLD, you take that back,” shouted Harry from the doorway. He’d come in through the back door as Bea was explaining about not having any children and was mortified by what Anne had just said.

  “No!” replied Anne. “It’s true, it could have been born—”

  “STOP RIGHT NOW, YOUNG LADY, AND APOLOGISE NOW FOR SUCH A CALLOUS REMARK,” roared Harry at his eldest daughter. Anne just dug her heels in.

  “NO, I WON’T, I’VE DONE NOTHING WRONG,” she replied, all indignant. Harry could feel his blood reaching boiling point.

  “I SAID, TAKE IT BACK AND APOLOGISE NOW,” he shouted at Anne. Anne visibly shook but still refused to apologise.

  “I’m not apologising for speaking the truth,” began Anne. “I’m only saying what everyone was probably thinking at the time.”

  “My baby was perfect in every way,” cut in Bea. “It was my grief that caused the miscarriage, nothing else. Every day I live with the guilt of that. The guilt that I killed my baby, our baby. Arthur’s brain tumour wasn’t contagious or hereditary. I caused the death of our baby. I couldn’t keep anything down. I couldn’t provide the nourishment she needed to grow. To survive. So, you see, Anne, it wasn’t for the best. It was the worst possible thing that could have happened. In such a short space of time I’d lost the love of my life and our child. If I’d been able to eat properly, been able to stop myself from vomiting, to stop the pain in my heart and the tears from constantly running down my face, I could have saved her. But I couldn’t. So the pain grew worse until I could no longer bear it. I took an overdose. I
wanted to die. I was happy to die. I wanted to be with my Arthur and our unborn child. But God had other plans for me. I was found before it was too late. I was nursed back to health by the same wonderful lady who’d taken me in all those years before. She made me strong again. Gave me the strength to carry on. To ignore the rants of vicious, jealous people. Because that’s all those sorts of remarks are.”

  “I’m not jealous of you,” spat out Anne. “I’m not jealous of an old whore like you! I’m—”

  “Get out of this house right now, Anne, and don’t come back until you’ve learnt to have a civil tongue in your head,” shouted Harry.

  “It’s okay, Harry, there’s really no need,” began Bea.

  “Oh, there is. Things are changing round here, believe me. I’ve let things slide since Elsie left and poor young Freddy’s death only made that worse. I let Mary and our mother have too much control over my home and family these past few months but not anymore.

  “And you think letting a whore look after your house and kids is a better idea?” raged Anne.

  “OUT! GET OUT NOW, BEFORE I SLAP YOU SO HARD, GIRL, THAT YOU’LL NOT KNOW WHAT DAY OF THE WEEK IT IS,” yelled Harry. Bea came to stand between Anne and Harry. She had no desire to see anyone get slapped and poor little Janie looked about to burst into tears.

  “Why don’t you go to your room, Anne? Give everyone time to calm down and gather their thoughts.” But Anne was having none of it. Bea’s interference only incensed her all the more.

  “Oh, shut up, you old hag. I don’t have to listen to the likes of you,” Anne snarled at Bea. Janie at this point began to cry. “And you can shut up as well, you ginger-haired cow.” She screamed at Janie. Suddenly Anne felt the full force of her father’s hand as it made contact with her left cheek. The whole left side of her face felt like it was on fire. Anne glared at Harry. Her father had never raised a hand to her before. Oh, she’d had more than her fair share of beltings off her mother, but never her father. He’d never hit any of his children and had often chided her mother for being quick to lash out, and now he’d hit her. The shock was now being replaced by pure hatred, not for Harry but for Bea and Janie. They were to blame for this.

  “This is all your fault, whore,” she screamed at Bea. “Dad’s never laid a finger on us before today. See what happens, Dad, when you let people in who don’t belong in this family? You forget about me, Charlie, Aunt Mary and Gran. Instead you take sides with your whore of a sister and some other man’s kid.”

  The sound of Harry’s hand contacting Anne’s cheek for a second time echoed around the kitchen.

  “Now get out of my house, Anne, and stay out. You’re evil. You’ve let them old hags brainwash you. Well, now you can go stay with them. I’ve washed my hands of you and your vicious tongue. Now, get out before I really lose my temper.” Anne stared at her father, defiant to the end.

  “You can’t just throw me out, in the eyes of the law I’m still a minor.” The cockiness in her voice belied her fifteen years. Harry eyed his daughter coldly then walked out into the hallway and picked up the receiver of the telephone and began to dial.

  “Who do you think you’re phoning?” asked Anne, with the cockiness still in her voice. Harry answered his daughter calmly, as he continued to dial.

  “Social services to have you taken into care.”

  “You can’t do that,” responded Anne, with a quiver in her voice now.

  “As you said, Anne. You’re a minor, I can’t throw you out, but I can place you into care.” Anne came hurling into the hallway and cut the call off.

  “You’re not sticking me in some godforsaken children’s home to rot. I’m off to Aunt Mary’s.” And with that she headed straight out of the front door, slamming it behind her. Harry replaced the receiver back on its cradle and walked back into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Janie’s eyes were all swollen, but she’d stopped crying. She looked so lost, so confused by what had taken place.

  “Come sit on your dad’s knee, pumpkin,” Harry said while holding his arms out to Janie. Janie immediately scampered round onto Harry’s knee and curled herself into his open arms.

  “What did Anne mean by I’m someone else’s kid?” she asked. Harry felt his heart ache for this poor little child.

  “Nothing, pumpkin. Anne was just angry, and she lashed out at Aunt Bea and you. You’re my little pumpkin and Aunt Bea isn’t a whore or an old hag. Anne was just being spiteful.”

  “She wasn’t spiteful about Charlie though?”

  “No, she wasn’t, pumpkin. She wanted to keep Charlie on her side, that’s why. Pay no attention to her.”

  “But why’s she so angry, Daddy? Aunt Bea had made us a lovely breakfast and had said we could go live with her by the sea in the summer holidays.” Harry brushed away the tiny red curls from her forehead and planted a tender kiss there.

  “Anne has been listening to all the lies that Aunt Mary and your gran have spread about your Aunt Bea. Unfortunately, Anne believes them, not us. So, she doesn’t want Aunt Bea to stay and look after us. She wants me to send Bea away and let Mary take care of us.”

  “I want Aunt Bea to stay,” chirped up Charlie. “Aunt Mary makes us eat that horrible lumpy porridge and she’s always clipping me round my ear. I’ll be either deaf or brain-damaged if she continues to look after us.” Harry smiled at Charlie.

  “She pulls that hard brush through my hair every morning, cursing my curls,” added Janie.

  “So, Bea,” asked Harry. “Are you going to make horrid porridge, clip ears and try to straighten out curls?”

  Bea smiled at the three of them.

  “I only make smooth, milky porridge. I wash ears, not clip them, and I absolutely love your curls, Janie, so there’ll be NO straightening of them while I’m in charge. However, I do expect you to eat your greens, say please and thank you and, lastly but most importantly, I expect you both to be normal, happy children.”

  “Hurray,” cheered Charlie and Janie in unison.

  “So, that’s settled then. Aunt Bea stays.”

  “YES, YES, YES,” yelled out both children. Then Janie climbed down off Harry’s knee and went and gave Bea a big hug.

  “I’m going to like this change,” announced Janie.

  ELSIE

  June 1971

  Elsie re-read the small column in the national newspaper, for the umpteenth time.

  BLACKPOOL MUDERER JAILED

  Kenneth Harlow was yesterday sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of Frederick Arnold last August in the seaside resort of Blackpool. Harlow was residing there under the name of Derek Collins. One of the many aliases used by the accused. He had been sought by the police up and down the country, for numerous accounts of GBH and similar offences. Judge Fairbourne recommended that he serve at least 15 years for the senseless murder of a young man whose only crime was in trying to make contact with his absent mother.

  Mrs Elsie Arnold has not been seen or heard of since that fateful day. Detective Inspector Jack Wilde said that all lines of enquires to locate her had been fruitless. The Inspector had gone on to say “he would not rest until Mrs Arnold had been found.” The Arnold family were not in court for the sentencing.

  Elsie hadn’t known that Derek was really Kenneth Harlow until the case came to court. In fact, she hadn’t known about his suspect past at all. As always in a rush to get out of one relationship, she’d just hurtled straight into another without stopping to find out who she was really getting involved with. And history had repeated itself yet again for Elsie. Morris Connolly was the not the respectable businessman he’d led her to believe back in Blackpool. Morris Connolly, just like Derek, had several aliases! To his wife and children, he was Douglas Moore. To acquaintances he was Seamus O’Brien. To Elsie, Morris Connolly. And to his IRA counterparts, Paddy Adams. And they were just the ones she was privy to. All Elsie’s dreams of a good li
fe with Morris had been shattered within weeks of landing in Ireland with him. She was not to be his adored mistress, lavished with expensive gifts and doted upon. No, Elsie was more like his prisoner! She was kept in a small farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with a constant bodyguard. When Morris arrived, he was usually closely followed by several other men. Elsie had seen all of their faces appear on both the local and national news in connection with recent bombings and shootings. While they locked themselves away in the front living room, Elsie was banished to the kitchen to prepare them all food. Once their meeting and the food was finished they’d leave. Morris would stay on a little longer to quench his sexual appetite. As time passed, his idea of sexual fun was becoming more and more brutal. After he was finished with her, he’d leave. Elsie then was left clear instructions to clean the place up and have it at the ready for further visits.

  Morris and his friends had been the previous evening. The farmhouse was a mess and Elsie’s back, red raw from the lashing from Morris’s latest toy, a cat-o’-nine-tails. The only thing Elsie could focus on now was the brand-new passport sitting in the dresser drawer. Morris had shown it to her after everyone else had left for the evening. He had then told her of his plan to set England alight. Elsie was part of that plan. Together they’d travel to London. Not as a married couple but as a businessman with his secretary on a business trip. Once in London the plan was to plant as many nail bombs around the capitol as they could. Elsie was to travel with Burt, her bodyguard, to Belfast at the end of the week, today being Wednesday, where she’d be taken to a safe house. Once there Burt would return to the farmhouse. Elsie would be there for three days. During this time, she was to buy suitable clothing for her role as a secretary. Her blonde locks were to be dyed a deep brown and spectacles were to be purchased. Everything about her was to be forgettable. There should be nothing about her that would draw attention to either herself or Morris. Instead of her usual Marilyn Monroe image, she was to go more for the plain-Jane look. Morris himself would be collecting her on the Monday to travel to London.